Saga of a Heretic
by Vahn Edrik
Summary: Libaius, a stout Terminator of the Battlemaster of the Heretic's finest squad, finds inner struggles when carrying out his duties.


Chapter One: Tensions in the Imperium  
  
  
  
"His Honourable Battlemaster's word was law: to eliminate the threat of the Ultramarines in this sector, and to defend ourselves against the Chaos factions, as well as the alternate alien threats. We of the Beta chapter, codenamed 'Heretics' from the Emperor, are of one mind, one soul. We despise what has become of the human race, and we have an ever-lasting grudge against humanity. We will right what once went wrong," the Terminator-armoured Librarian shouted.  
  
The masses were gathered at the Grand Cathedral to His Holiness, Battlemaster Bruntal, in order to listen to His Honourable Chief Librarian, Kharan. The multitudes of Heretic Space Marines were lined up in military ranking, the countless Rhinos and Razorback and Land Raider tanks humming with working machinery behind the squads of Marines. One Marine, a Terminator, stares up at Chief Librarian Kharan in appraisal, soaking up every word like a dry, thirsty sponge.  
  
"We must survive! We will survive! Power to the Beta Chapter!!" Chief Librarian Kharan yelled out, throwing his arm up, force staff crackling with psychic energy as the air above the congregation storms up, lightning bolts piercing through the skies.  
  
The whole Chapter threw up their weapons in one, unifying cry, boltguns and storm bolters flashing, flamers flickering with fire, lascannons glowing with energy. Kharan smirked to himself, staring at the horde of devout followers, watching them shout their allegiance to the Chapter, and lowered his force staff, waving it over at the congregation.  
  
"Go, my Battle Brothers! Go in the honour of His Holy Battlemaster! Spread the will and the spirit of the Chapter, and smite the evil and corruption of humanity!" Kharan yelled, then turned and stalked back into his chambers. The Marine in Terminator armour, like his fellow squad brethren, smiles happily to himself from inside his armour, feeling proud to be in such a grand Chapter. The whole of the Chapter then dispersed, most being loaded onto Dropships for their new assignments to the various worlds and realms.  
  
The days were long and arduous, the stench of human sweat and blood as casualties were loaded onto the mammoth Dropships and ferried off to their next mission objective. The Marine leans back, removing his helmet and staring up at the dull green of the interior of the Dropship. One of his Battle Brethren nudges him gently with a powerfist.  
  
"Hey Libaius. What's wrong? You look like you've seen the Emperor," he inquires.  
  
The Marine, known as Libaius, just shakes his head.  
  
"I don't know, Gaius. I just don't feel right. Like something's missing. Maybe it was that blast from that Tyranid spore mine." he mutters, staring into the complex pattern of tech on the ceiling.  
  
The Dropship lurches, signifying the rapid descent into atmosphere. They've reached a Deathworld, where they are commissioned to take out an Imperial Guard base. Libaius slips on his helmet, securing it and quickly getting ready, gripping his storm bolter tightly in his fist. He looks sideways to Gaius, who gives him a thumbs-up with his powerfist.  
  
"For the Battlemaster, Libaius!" Gaius speaks to him over the commlink.  
  
"For the Battlemaster, Gaius," Libaius echoes.  
  
The Dropship then seems to thud and creak as they land, the hatch in the front opening up and displaying the wasteland of the Deathworld. There were so many out there, this is just one of the many training facilities. The Heretic Terminators disembark, the five honoured Marines filing off and into the acrid, spoiled terrain.  
  
Not a single tree was present. Shards of glass and metal, hulls of long- destroyed tanks, and skeletal, partially-armoured carcasses of humans who died in some strange war were all that was littering the ground. The Terminator squads from the many Dropships soon gathered into a large group of around twenty, and one more figure soon walked in from the dusty haze. The wind picked up, blowing the figure's dark-green cloak like some ethereal shadow, and the heavy footfalls of Terminator armour-clad human feet sounded out. The figure then stopped in front of the group, staring through red-glowing optics, gripping a powersword in his left fist, a storm bolter in his right.  
  
"Allow me to greet you, fellow Battle Brothers. I am Legarius, Commander of the Fifteenth regiment of the Beta Chapter. I welcome you to Menar III. Fall in," commanded Legarius, turning in place and stalking off into the gloom.  
  
Libaius looks to the rest, and then sets out, the first to break the group, following after their new 'Commander'. The rest soon fell into step behind, the Dropships roaring overhead as they disappeared into the dust storm and, finally, into the depths of space. Libaius calmly plods behind Legarius, his eyes staring through the infrared lenses, seeing the heat scale of the micro power plants of the Terminator armour. Long they trekked, and hard was the voyage, until they finally hiked out of the dust storm and onto a large, rocky outcropping. Legarius stopped at the edge, resting his heavy boot on a small boulder, staring out at the valley below.  
  
Unlike most Deathworlds, this world, Menar III, was known for its pockets of oasis-like growth. The valley was carpeted in green, with only the very top of a few towers, along with a landing pad, obscuring the naturalism of it all. Exotic birds and wildlife threw out their calls into the wind, still strong, even outside the storm. Figures are seen patrolling the landing pad. Libaius stands beside his Commander, peering at the figures through magnification. Imperial Guard, he thought to himself as he saw the mal-armoured humans conversing to themselves.  
  
"That is the base, Brothers. We must crush it, if we hope to control the influx of seasoned, environment-hardened Imperial Guard, in our favor. You should know what needs to be done. They must be destroyed, at all cost. Now go. For the Battlemaster!" Legarius explains, lifting his power sword into the air.  
  
The Terminators all grin under their helmets, lifting their powerfists into the air in salute, yelling their praise to the Battlemaster. Libaius watches as they rush off, cocking their storm bolters and preparing krak and frag grenades, then lets out a soft sigh to himself and rushes off to catch up with the squads.  
  
But he is stopped, a firm hand on his shoulder armour. He stops immediately, looking back into the red-glowing optics of his Commander.  
  
"What is troubling you, Brother Libaius?" the Commander questions.  
  
"Nothing, Battle Brother Legarius. Just pre-battle jitters," Libaius responded.  
  
"Those should have been bred out of your genome, Brother. Gather your strength. Believe in the Battlemaster. He shall take his position as the true Emperor, you shall see. And if you serve him well, like you have, then you shall live forever by his side. Such is the dream of all Brethren! Now go, Libaius. Go and fulfill your dream as a Terminator of the prestiged Beta Chapter!"  
  
Legarius seemed to smile at him, though it was unseen from the angled facemask, and he turned to watch as the other Terminators rushed off to their battle. Libaius watched his Commander for a few moments before turning and running off down the slope, rejoining his Brothers for their meaningful fight for the cleansing of the Corrupted. 


End file.
